


Bound Fast

by McDannoMauLoa



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Age of Sail, Angst, Canon Universe, Coda, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-03 04:39:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McDannoMauLoa/pseuds/McDannoMauLoa
Summary: While the Indefatigable is laid up in port for repairs, Lieutenants Hornblower and Kennedy embark on an adventure of their own.





	1. Portsmouth

**Author's Note:**

> The action here takes place immediately following The Wrong War/The Frogs and the Lobsters, and doesn't conflict with the events of Mutiny and Retribution. 
> 
> The Sandwich Islands are modern day Hawai‘i.
> 
> *Canon Spoiler* I wrote this to be the story that flashes through Horatio's mind during the pregnant pause just before he tells Archie it was an honor to have served with him on his deathbed scene in Retribution.

Captain Pellew scrutinized the two young lieutenants standing at attention in his quarters with a raised eyebrow. Hornblower stood uncomfortably erect, his eyes near black in the dim cabin, boring a hole straight ahead at some point on the opposite wall.

Kennedy’s stance was more relaxed than perhaps it should have been for a lieutenant turned out for his captain, but Pellew was accustomed to the man’s discipline; wondering if it were indeed lacking or whether he simply paled next to the buttoned up Hornblower, from whom he was rarely apart.

He’d served in His Majesty’s Navy long enough to be full aware of when an attachment among his men was more than the result of boredom, shared interest, or symbiotic personal need, and he’d long observed their friendship to be suspiciously deep—particularly for someone as gregarious as Kennedy in the face of someone as reserved as Hornblower.

Such types, he found, normally clashed, but he marveled at Kennedy’s uncanny ability to pierce Hornblower’s often-inscrutable façade, seeming to judge his friend’s moods with precision. On the voyage back from France, Hornblower had seemed out of sorts, and Kennedy the only man among the ship’s company who could elicit more than a word.

While Hornblower’s gaze remained fixed on an imaginary mark behind him, Kennedy’s blue-eyed stare bordered on insolence, which his stifled half-smirk only served to underline; his slightly raised chin seeming to mock.

The smirk turned into a purse, then broadened into a tight upturning at the corners as Pellew gave his instructions—Hornblower’s expression remained a mask, until he was finished, but there was surprise evident in his voice.

“A fortnight, sir?”

His posture had relaxed for a moment, but he remembered himself and stiffened again. Kennedy remained relaxed and continued staring at Pellew, now visibly smiling.

Pellew paused, gave a nod, and a clipped, “Yes.”

Hornblower was about to protest, but Pellew cut him off, “I won’t have bored men onboard a ship in port whilst under repair, Lieutenant. It delays the work.”

Hornblower moved to protest again, and he was again silenced.

“Go, get yourselves fighting fit, and return Thursday after next.”

Hornblower opened his mouth for yet a final plea, but the Captain kept anticipating his complaints.

“Dismissed.”

Kennedy finally stiffened to proper attention while this time it was the stunned Hornblower who’d gone limp. Kennedy turned on his heel and moved to depart while Hornblower stood on for a few seconds as if gathering his thoughts.

“Horatio.” Kennedy called softly from the door.

Jolted, Hornblower turned to join him, but Pellew had another thought.

“Er, a moment, Mr. Kennedy, if you please.”

Kennedy saw Hornblower out the door and then closed it behind him, returning to his position.

“Yes, sir?”

“At ease, man.”

Kennedy shifted his weight on his feet and began to turn pink. He was already at ease, and he shouldn’t have been.

Pellew returned his Lieutenant’s stare.

“Get him sorted.”

Kennedy’s eyes darted for a moment, then he locked his gaze with the Captain again. Pellew heard him draw breath to ask for clarification, but Pellew kept his gaze until Kennedy’s stare softened into an unspoken understanding.

Kennedy didn’t try to hide his grin. “Thank you, sir.”

Pellew gestured a dismissal with a head tilt and a wink.

* * *

When Archie found his mind otherwise unoccupied, he debated with himself the exact moment it must have been that he decided he was in love with Horatio. Was love at first sight literal, as in the exact moment you laid eyes on someone?

That seemed unreasonable, but Love and Reason are rarely to each other introduced.

It must have been, he deduced, the instant he abandoned reason that was the instant he loved Horatio, and he’d managed to pinpoint it as somewhere within a few hours of when Horatio first climbed aboard the Justinian.

“A fortnight!” he exclaimed to his friend once he found him staring out at the chimney stacks of Portsmouth from the railing. “Think of what we could do in a fornight! We’re in the midst of the London season.”

He was about to go on about the playhouses but Horatio cut him short.

“I must go to Sudpool, Archie.”

Archie saw white.

“Sudpool. Where is Sudpool?”

Horatio regarded him briefly, and clasped his wrists behind his back, turning back to the railing.

“Sudpool,” he sighed, “is a place in Devon.”

He turned from the railing and studied his boots as if thinking what to say next.

“I’ve promised my Father a visit the next time I’d have any good amount of time on land, and it’s October. He’ll be in Sudpool, seeing tenants of the Viscount after the harvest.”

It was Archie’s turn to regard his boots, and try to hide his blushing disappointment.

“You’ll be welcome, Archie.”

Archie looked up and smiled, not caring if Horatio noticed he’d turned pink.

Horatio smiled tightly and grasped Archie’s forearm.

“Please come.”

There was no arguing with that stare—not that Archie would have. He’d decided the instant Pellew had ordered them off the ship that his entire fortnight would be spent in Horatio’s company, no matter what manner of excuse it required.

“Of course, Horatio.”

“Jenkins!” Horatio bellowed.

Jenkins stood up and doffed an imaginary cap. “Sir?”

  
“Go below and fetch mine and Mr. Kennedy’s sea chests and convey them to The Flag for the evening. Get Brewer to help you.”

Before the man could affirm, Horatio turned back to Kennedy.

“We’ll spend the evening at The Flag; there’s a mail coach for Sidmouth in the morning.”

“That’s at least two days.” Archie noted.

“If we’re lucky, Archie. If we’re lucky.” Horatio smiled.

Archie set his jaw. Luck was exactly what he’d need.

* * *

The Flag was a public house frequented by officers that sat just one street off the waterfront, with stout brickwork and fine glazing. Half a crown would get an officer a room with a bed, sheets that had been laundered on Saturday, and a jug of hot water for washing. For sixpence, you could dine with the proprietress, although the lingering smell from countless meals belied she was certainly fond of mutton, and Horatio knew Archie was not.

The woman’s name was Simpson, and Horatio eyed Archie carefully when they were introduced. He saw a flicker ripple across his friend’s eyes but he kept his composure. They accepted a cup of tea from a smart service in a bright but chastely decorated drawing room, and then ventured out into the afternoon to market for the next day’s journey before the sellers began to pack in.

The stalls were picked over, but between them they’d acquired a large wedge of hard cheese, a tin of biscuits, a bushel of small green apples, small flasks of wine, a pair of penny loaves, which they entrusted to a boy to deliver to The Flag for a farthing.

Horatio was touched by how easily Archie smiled at each new prospect of pleasure, regardless of the magnitude. It was one of the things he loved most about his outgoing, pleasure-loving friend, the absence of which had made their Spanish incarceration altogether so much more trying.

In the course of finding a tavern at which to procure an evening meal, they happened upon a bookshop.

“Let’s see if they have got _King’s Volumes_.” Archie suggested.

Horatio had long ago confessed his interest in reading Captain King’s accounts of the last voyages of Captain James Cook to the Sandwich Islands, but one book was dear enough on his salary—let alone three.

“Let’s to dinner, I think. I haven’t eaten since before sunup.”

“Come on. There’s no harm in looking,” Archie said, pulling on his arm.

“It will hurt my stomach to put off a meal.” Horatio complained.

Archie rolled his eyes and grabbed Horatio’s hand, dragging him up the steps before he could further protest. “We’ll inquire quickly, and then we’ll eat.”

Archie’s hand felt electric in his own, and he didn’t quite understand why but he liked the way Archie held it—fingers interlocked with his, making escape difficult even if he’d wanted.

As they stepped inside, Horatio was aware of the creaking of the signboard over his head. “Books”, it read. Portsmouth merchants were nothing if not literal, he thought.

The inside of the shop was well lit and otherwise empty. Archie set off in search of the shopkeeper while Horatio plucked a smaller volume off the shelf— _The Castle of Otranto_. He browsed the first few pages and decided it rather too overwrought. Nonfiction would be just fine for him.

He stopped himself. No it wouldn’t—he could barely afford it. It would easily be ten shillings, if not more, and he still had the coach to pay for.

Archie, it seemed, never worried for money, but that’s what happens when you’re given nearly three years worth of half-pay in a lump sum and then have nowhere to spend it for another year.

Presently Archie appeared between the stacks.

“Says he hasn’t got it.” He said, pursing his lips. His eyes sparkled even when he was delivering disappointing news. Or not so disappointing to Horatio’s purse, when he considered it.

“But he did sell me this, which I am much relieved to have recovered, after all these years!”

He produced a new copy of _Tom Jones_. Horatio remembered he’d been reading it onboard the Indefatigable before being set adrift.

“I’ve heard of this book,” Horatio said, taking the copy and thumbing the pages. “I’ve heard it called low entertainment,” he said in an amused tone, carefully eyeing Archie for his reaction.

His smile belayed understanding, but he played the part.

“Then I shall keep my low entertainment to myself during our journey, and you shall have to make do with the scenery,” he said, snatching the book back.

“Very well then. My stomach, sir.” Horatio smiled as he grabbed Archie’s hand and pulled him out of the shop when he noticed his eye twinkle with distraction at a volume of Marlowe. “I can see my struggle with you, Mr. Kennedy, will be to keep you out of the bookshop.” Horatio said with an air as the stepped up the cobblestones toward the wharf where he’d been told they could procure a decent roast chicken.

“And what of my struggles with you, Mr. Hornblower?” Archie teased.

“They’ll be varied and numbered if my stomach is forced to wait one more moment.” Horatio couldn’t help but smile through his feigned grumpiness.

Portsmouth bustled around them even as the winter sunlight had almost entirely disappeared over the horizon and the lighters had come round the illuminate the street lamps. The air, which normally smelled of the sea and the refuse of the port, began to permeate with lamp oil and the smell of dinners cooking at the various inns and taverns that counted much of the Royal Navy among their custom.

Like the Navy itself, the wharf was populated almost entirely by men, save for the innkeepers, marketers and shop assistants that plied the sea’s support trades. Horatio admired the women’s fortitude for working, oftentimes without protection, surrounded by men who he well knew could be crass, aggressive, and quite often boisterously drunk.

A number of those men crowded into The Porcupine, the waterfront tavern evidently known for the chicken, and the recommendation turned out to be true.

During the meal, Archie, for his part, mostly rattled on about _Tom Jones_ , recounting as much of the story as he could remember, while Horatio ate.

“You can remember that much of a story you haven’t read in over two years?”

“Of course, Horatio—you never forget a good story, or a good poem. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’” He asked with a flourish.

“If you so wish,” Horatio said, tearing off a piece of bread to soak up the juices on his plate.

“It’s Shakespeare, Horatio,” Archie chuckled. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art far more lovely, more temperate,”

“Does that mean I’m cold?” Horatio stifled a smile.

Archie fell back into the chair, palms on the armrests. “You’re taking the piss.”

“My apologies,” Horatio said with a smirk, “Continue, Mr. Kennedy.”

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,  
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.  
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,  
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;  
And every fair from fair sometime declines,  
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;  
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,  
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,  
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade  
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.  
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,  
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

“Prophetic was Master Shakespeare,” Horatio mused.

“I don’t follow,” Archie said.

Horatio took a tentative sip of his wine before continuing. “When he wrote those words he somehow knew that you, along with many others, would commit them to memory some two hundred years after his death. He must have had a very high opinion of his skills.”

Archie leaned forward, “It’s been whispered he wrote the sonnet about a man.”

Horatio wasn’t moved, “ _Philia_ , the Greeks called, it—love between brothers. They had four words for love, all quite different.”

“What would you know about it,” Archie teased. “Have you ever been in love, Horatio?”

“You know I haven’t, man,” Horatio said, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Except for that rash—I forgot myself in France.” He added.

“Rash indeed,” Archie said, somewhat ruefully, twisting his napkin. “A Frenchwoman, a Catholic, and a Republican—how would that have ended, any other way than how it did?”

“Speculation is profitless, Archie.”

He gave Archie a long stare, which Archie returned with an expression that was difficult to decipher, a longing affection—one that he’d seen before, but had never quite considered in context.

Another goblet of wine was brought, and he searched for another topic.

“Why—why did you choose the sea, Archie?”

Archie’s stare crumpled. “Do we have to talk about that?” he asked in a small voice.

It was Horatio’s turn to deflate. “Not if—I’m sorry Archie, that was too bold.”

Archie’s small voice continued, “I’m a younger son without a natural gift. The sea was the best I could hope for, and it was chosen for me at any rate.”

He took a sip of wine, avoiding Horatio’s eyes. “And it was somewhere away—even for the better, where my family were concerned.”

“Archie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

Archie put up a hand. “No, no, we’re friends—let there be no secrets between us.”

After another pregnant pause, he sighed, “You, Horatio, are as much family as I’ve known in my adult life.”

Horatio smiled, “It’s an honor, sir. To Philia.” He raised his glass.

Archie returned the smile and raised his own glass—and his eyebrow—with a twinkle in his eye.

“To love.”

* * *

By the time they’d settled the bill, they’d consumed the chicken entire, two bottles of wine and a tumbler each of port, and were close enough to drunk by the time they returned to The Flag that Archie needed an arm around Horatio’s shoulders to make it up the stairs.

The water in the jug at the washing stand was still quite warm and Archie sat dumbly on the bed, blinking, while Horatio undid his cravat and began to splash water on his face and neck. Next came his coat, which he laid out on the top of his sea chest, then shoes, stockings, and breeches, until he stood in front of the basin in just his shirt, when he heard light snoring coming from behind him.

He did his usual cursory scrub with a flannel, and turned to find Archie had managed to remove his hat but nothing else before passing out cold on the bed.  
Giggly, and emboldened by the drink, Horatio set about taking off his friend’s shoes.

He next moved on to the stockings to reveal wisps of red-orange hair on his calves and surprisingly soft feet. Horatio’s own bore the strain of constant standing and walking and soggy sea-soak, but Archie’s looked like they’d spent their entire existence in silk slippers strolling leisurely in a garden.

“Take a man’s shoes—scoundrel—what else will you rob me of?” he heard a drunken mumble from above.

“Whatever else you don’t wish to crumple up during the night.” Horatio shot back. “Up now, the water’s still warm.”

He tugged on Archie’s shoulders but felt him resist back into the bedclothes with a deviant smile.

“Aaand, up!” he tugged again, but Archie had taken hold around his back and used the force instead to pull Horatio on top of him.

Surprised, Horatio searched his face for meaning and found Archie smiling dumbly, but with a hint of panic in his eyes, which seemed to dart around searching for even a momentary tug of resistance.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if he considering whether he could back away from the precipice, but he swallowed, leaned forward and kissed Horatio for the briefest of moments, drily on the lips, and then lay back on the pillow.

Horatio took a few seconds to process the kiss, but he could almost feel Archie’s panic pulsing beneath him as his smile began to quickly fade as he searched Horatio’s eyes for a response.

He felt Archie heave a breath out and draw in another as the panic began to set into his chest before he leaned into Archie and returned his kiss, lingering as he felt Archie’s muscles relax beneath him.

The next time he broke the kiss to look into Archie’s eyes he found them flooding like a leaky longboat.

“Why tears, Archie?” The softness of his own voice seemed foreign to him.

“I was scared, Horatio,” Archie said in a cracked voice. He swallowed and his eyes rolled back briefly as a pair of tears dropped onto his cheeks. “Risky business, this.”

Horatio put his palms to Archie’s cheeks and wiped away the tears with his thumbs before kissing him again.

“With great reward.” Horatio smiled.


	2. The Journey to Sudpool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horatio and Archie set off to Sudpool via Royal Mail Coach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sodomy was a capital offense in 18th Century Britain, but required first hand accounts for a conviction. Modern concepts of sexual orientation as an identity were still at least decades away, and platonic affectionate gestures between men of the same social rank were far less suspect, but still carried a degree of social risk.
> 
> There is a brief mention here of past rape.
> 
> The modern name for Otaheite is Tahiti.

“Do you imagine this is what it’s like to be married?” Archie asked, sometime around three in the morning.

They were both in only their shirts, in bed, Horatio with his arms around Archie, while Archie absentmindedly ran his hand over the arm slung across his chest and felt Horatio’s breath on his cheek.

“This what?” Horatio asked, still wide awake, himself.

“This. Sharing a bed, sharing secrets.”

“We’d have done that as friends.” Horatio said.

“Sharing kisses.” Archie turned and kissed him, then kept his gaze.

“I suppose.”

“Do you suppose that somewhere in the lands across the sea that there are men like us, who are married, in the sight of God?”

Horatio knew what he was getting at. “Men who wouldn’t be hanged if they were found out?”

Archie shuddered, “Yes.”

“There are accounts in Cook’s discovery of _Otaheite_ in the South Seas that the islanders copulate frequently and in every imaginable combination.” Horatio said.

“But they don’t marry.” He added.

“Is that why you wanted to read _King’s Volumes_?” Archie smiled.

“No.” Horatio said. “No, I like accounts of navigating the unknown.”

“Like we’ve done.” Archie tickled Horatio’s ribs.

Horatio laughed out loud. “Yes. Unknown to me, at least.”

Archie frowned and turned on his side to face Horatio. “Horatio, I’ve never-“ he stopped when he began to realize what he was saying, and he flushed.

“I mean, I’ve never wanted to.”

“What did he do to you, Archie?” Horatio almost whispered.

“He buggered me, repeatedly.” Archie said flatly. Horatio felt him tense.

“Archie, I-“ Archie shut him up with a kiss.

“I’ve coped.” He said.

“The fits.” Horatio said, unintentionally out loud.

“Yes, the fits.” Archie said, with an eye roll. “I’m glad you killed him. I don’t wish death upon any Englishman, but I’m glad he’s dead, and I’m glad you killed him.”

“I didn’t kill him. The Captain did.” Horatio began to twist a curl of Archie’s hair between his fore and middle fingers.

“If he’s dead and you saw him dead, that’s enough. You’re my hero.” Archie smiled.

“I threw away my shot.” Horatio averted his gaze.

“You distracted him plenty of other times.”

Horatio didn’t know what to say, so he kissed Archie again, for what must have been the thousandth time that evening. Once parted from his lips, he kissed both cheeks, the tip of his nose, each of his closed eyes, and his forehead, just between them.

He settled back and found Archie smiling, still piercing him with those bright eyes, even in the dimness of the candlelight. He thought for a moment that he’d probably owe Mrs. Simpson for using so much of the candles, but illuminating those eyes was worth every penny.

“I love you.” Archie cooed through a smile, eyes still closed.

“I love you, too, Archie.”

“When did you realize you loved me?” He asked. “It wasn’t when I kissed you.”

“No. No, it wasn’t.” Horatio said. “But I was surprised.”

“Let me think.” Horatio said, while Archie finally opened his eyes and swept a lock of Horatio’s hair out of his face before he settled a bit on the pillow to gaze at him while he considered. “I would suppose that your chattering when we first met onboard the _Justinian_ was a comfort.”

“I was happy to have a new acquaintance onboard, and to have a boost in seniority.” Archie said with a chuckle.

“I can say I was bereft when I thought you’d been lost in that long boat.” Horatio mused. “Like I’d lost my only friend.”

He thought more on it for a moment, and then decisively drew breath.

“In Spain. When I saw you’d lost consciousness I wished it were me instead.” He hesitated. “I love—I love—I love your life more than my own.”

Archie kissed him.

“I’d call that love. And not _Philia_. Plain old English love, where thoughts of you consume me whenever your company doesn’t.” Archie said.

“So now what?” He asked.

“Come here.” Horatio settled onto his back and pulled Archie so that his head was rested on his shoulder. With his free hand he found Archie’s thigh and pulled it across his hips, but finding it awkward, in his shirt, pulled it up to his waist and caressed the bare skin up across the cleft of his ass and lightly tickled the coarse hairs just above.

“Stop.” Archie suppressed a giggle.

“What?” Horatio smiled.

“Trying to undress me, sir?”

“We’ve barely anything on to begin with.” Horatio pointed out.

“We could take off our shirts.” Archie brightened.

“Not in an inn.” Horatio said.

Two men in a bed was commonplace enough, even among officers, to save money. And deniability was still awkwardly possible if they happened to be found entangled. People moved in their sleep. But to be found in bed, nude, would be a near-certain trip to the gallows for both of them.

“Hypocrisy.” Archie lamented.

“What, me?” Horatio tensed.

“No, no, not you.” Archie sighed. “The whole damned lot of everybody. Simpson buggered me senseless to exert his authority and nobody did anything. But should I wish to share similar affections with you, out of love, the world condemns us both to die.”

“Not the world.” Horatio said, thoughtfully. “I overheard some of the guards talking in Spain. Apparently the new French penal code makes no mention of sodomy, and it is thus decriminalized.”

“No wonder he’s called ‘Boney’.” Archie giggled.

Horatio laughed out loud. “So the world changes.”

“Not fast enough for us.” Archie sighed.

“Libertine.” Horatio teased.

Horatio pressed his lips to Archie’s crown and began to fuss with collecting and straightening his tangled mess of hair with his free hand. When he was satisfied he set his chin atop Archie’s head and circled his arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“We’ll make do.” Horatio said. “We’ll find occasion to steal away and be alone, just you and I, whenever we can.

“Fleeting kisses on stolen time.” There was a wistful tone in Archie’s voice.

“Yes.”

They laid silently at length as Horatio continue to pet back Archie’s hair and Archie occasionally pressed his lips to Horatio’s chest.

“Are you tired, Archie?” Horatio asked, after he noticed one of the candles flicker and die.

“Yes. No.” Archie sighed. “Yes, I’m tired. No, sleep feels like a waste of time alone with you.”

He changed tack. “How well do you know Sudpool?”

“Very well.” Horatio said, “It was an annual sojourn for me and Papa. He takes up residence in a cottage very near the water, half a mile from the village.”

“It’s secluded, then.” Archie asked.

Horatio already knew what he was getting at.

“Yes, it’s secluded. And there is but a single spare bedroom.”

Archie hummed with satisfaction.

“We can spend our time admiring the bird life on the sea cliffs, fishing in the bay, exploring the ruins of the old church up on the cliff head. The villagers keep to themselves, although Mrs. Davies the housekeeper will talk your ear off—if she’s still there.”

“And your Papa?” Archie asked. Horatio could almost feel his raised eyebrow against his chest.

“My Papa.” Horatio sighed, “Keeps to himself. I never know what he’s thinking.”

“You’re definitely his son.” Archie smiled.

“I’ve intimated plenty with you, Mister Kennedy.” Horatio teased.

He continued, “I expect Mama knew him in a way nobody else could.”

“Rather the purpose of marriage.” Archie said.

“I expect that’s why they were married.” Horatio said.

“Marriage is a lovely idea,” Archie yawned, “But nobody ever seems very happy with it in the end.”

“You still love the idea,” Horatio said.

“I do,” Archie yawned again and shifted for comfort on Archie’s shoulder. “I’ve read too much not to.”

Horatio didn’t press further. He knew more than suspected that when Archie spoke of marriage, it wasn’t a wife he had set his sights upon—it was himself. As wildly impossible a notion as it might be, the thought was strangely alluring.

Archie must have been comforted by his own thoughts, whatever they were, for the light snores returned and within moments Horatio followed into a satisfied but uneasy slumber.

***

The mail coach from London departs daily at ten in the evening, and on good roads can make Portsmouth by nine the next morning. It takes another full 24 hours to reach Sudpool a few miles short of Sidmouth, on the Dorset coast.  
At a penny per mile more expensive than a private coach, it was an extravagance, but private coaches were notorious for overloading and tipping over, reducing the riders to dog meat, and for running well behind schedule. The government required the mail coaches to earn their keep, and to deliver the mails as first priority.

Another benefit to staying at The Flag was that it was just around the corner from the Post Office, where Archie and Horatio stood with their cloak collars turned up against a misty sea breeze. Horatio ached to hold Archie close and warm him against the breeze, but he knew for at least the next 24 hours there could be nothing more intimate than perhaps a friendly pat.

Archie seemed to have read his mind. His eyes darted about to make sure the Postmaster wasn’t within earshot, and then spoke softly out of the side of his mouth.

“I wish I was still in your arms.”

It was Horatio’s turn to nervously scan his surroundings. Seeing nobody had overheard he turned and smiled.

“Me too. I mean, I wish you were still in them.”

Archie smiled and hugged himself under his cloak, still warding off the chill.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “I nearly forgot—I got you something.”

From underneath his cloak he produced a leather bound book, at least half as thick again as an average King James Bible and handed it to Horatio, who immediately examined the spine.

“ _A Voyage to the Pacific Ocean_.” Horatio read, taking a moment to recognize it.

“ _King’s Volumes_!” Horatio exclaimed. “Where did you manage to find these?”

Archie fairly sparkled. “The book shop had them, but when the keep told me the price I knew you wouldn’t spend it, so I’ve bought them for you.”

Horatio opened his mouth to object, but Archie was ready.

“Isn’t it convenient that they’ve lately condensed the three volumes into a single one?”

“Archie-“ Horatio’s tone was reproving.

“We shan’t discuss it.” Archie shot back. “They’re yours—and now you’ve something to read on the journey.” He said as he reached into Horatio’s jacket, felt for the inside pocket, and slipped the book in.

He quickly glanced around again, and whispered into Horatio’s ear, “I love you.”

“And I, you, Archie.” Horatio smiled and felt warm. He wanted to take Archie back upstairs into the cozy bedroom at The Flag and have his way with him for two weeks until they had to report for duty, but it simply couldn’t happen that way. He had to visit Father, not only on account of his word, but also his purse.

The sound of hooves hitting the cobblestones at a brisk trot could only have been the approaching mail coach, and Horatio turned from Archie to take in the sight. It was painted red and black with the Royal Mail script and a sign reading “London Penzance.”

Horatio had ridden in mail coaches before, and he knew they could carry a total of six, sometimes eight adult passengers: four inside, two up top behind the driver, and one or two in the back with the guard. Of course outside seats were exposed to the elements and dust of the road, and were cheaper. Cramped seats inside were hardly better, but essentially promised arrival at your destination not covered in dust, rain, or mud.

When the carriage stopped, Horatio noticed that there were two men sitting up top and what appeared to be two seats empty inside.

“Where to?” The driver called down in a thick West Country accent that belayed no time for nonsense.

“Sudpool.” Horatio gulped.

“Nine and six.” The driver said almost automatically. He must have known all the distances by heart, Horatio thought.

“Come on then, it’s the mail.” The driver said impatiently. “Chests up top.”

Horatio and Archie both handed over their coins, and heaved their sea chests up to the guard, who lashed them to the top of the carriage while they both climbed into the tiny compartment, which seated six. A plump middle-aged woman, her two slender teen daughters, and a freckled boy of about twelve already occupied it.

“Lieutenants Hornblower and Kennedy, at your service, Madam.” Horatio announced himself and Archie as the carriage started with a jolt.

“Mrs. Harris,” the woman said in a jovial tone. “We shan’t crowd you long; we’re only going as far as Titchfield—another two hours.”

She indicated her children in turn, “My daughters: Jane, and Mary, and son William.”

Horatio was sitting next to the window, with Archie next to him on the bench, next to William, who peppered Archie with questions about the Royal Navy without interruption for the full two hours.

Archie indulged the boy with good humor, even enjoying himself in retelling some of his stories. He noted where Archie omitted portions for the sake of the ladies, and embellished others to make the story better. He’d always thought Archie wove a wonderful yarn, but that could be expected for someone who loved the theatre, and the warm feeling Horatio had acquired when Archie slipped the book in his breast pocket earlier in the morning had cast out into a golden glow as he watched Archie’s easy interactions with a boy who could almost pass for his son.

His mind wandered handily from there to picture what kind of son Archie would have, to consider how he might conceive such a son. He’d taken pains not to go too far in bed the night before, feeling somewhat tethered by the fact that thus far they hadn’t really done anything illegal—yet.

Yet there was no mistaking the feeling of Archie’s erection pressing against him as they kissed and cuddled, and there was no mistaking the strain of his own upon feeling it. It egged him on, knowing that he had such power to draw out such a physical, carnal response from a man that he’d otherwise carried on with as normal—chatted and teased and shared platonic confidences—suspecting but never knowing all the while that he harbored this long-simmering attraction.

Such ruminations must not have been lost on Archie, either, for as soon as the Harrises departed the carriage in the rural hamlet of Titchfield, where early morning mist had developed into midmorning rain, he took Horatio’s hand.

“Risky.” Horatio said, but he kept his hand where it was.

Archie stifled an eye roll.

“All right then.” He smirked and covered their clasped hands with his cloak. Now, for anyone just glancing into the carriage, which would have been a significant crane to begin with for the driver, guard, or any of the outside passengers, there would be no noticeable funny business between them.

“Your hand is cold,” Horatio observed.

“I’m always cold,” Archie said. “Fine occupation for someone who’s always cold.”

“We’ll be at Fisher’s Cottage soon enough,” Horatio said, “And then we can set about getting you warmed up.”

“Oh?” Archie raised an eyebrow and his eyes gained a devilish glint.

“Oh yes,” Horatio nodded. “Fisher’s has always been a most convenient place in which to be cold because it’s perhaps the coziest house in the village. Mrs. Davies knits in her spare time and there’s never a shortage of blankets and rugs, and there’s a well-tended hearth, and the bedrooms have floor grates to let in warmth from the rooms below.”

“Sounds cozy enough,” Archie said.

“And if nothing else, I shall keep you warm.” Horatio smiled.

Archie looked around conspiratorially, even though there was clearly nobody who would overhear, and then leaned in close to Horatio’s ear, more for warmth, Horatio thought, than to share a secret, “And this time perhaps we can get even closer,” he hinted lasciviously, “without so much clothing between us.”

Horatio got hard almost immediately, and squirmed in response, while Archie squeezed his hand for emphasis. He squeezed back.

“Yes. Yes, that.”

Before he could protest, Archie kissed him, and lingered, as if daring any of the coachmen or riders to peer inside the carriage.

“Remember yourself, Mister Kennedy,” Horatio whispered with his eyes closed.

“Remembering that I love you.” Archie whispered back.

Horatio’s eyes snapped open.

“I’m serious, Archie. We’re in a precarious position.”

Archie slowly opened his eyes, and like a drunk took a moment to focus his eyes on the same place.

“I get your meaning,” he sighed. “I just wish I shouldn’t.”

Horatio pulled out his copy of King’s Volumes. “I shall read aloud.” He said, stiffly.  
“Do your best with one hand, sir,” Archie said airily, giving Horatio’s hand a squeeze under his cloak. “I’ve got this one captive, and I won’t surrender it until forced.”

Horatio clucked with disapproval, but he kept his hand fast in Archie’s, and tried to focus on the page while he saw Archie’s smile broaden into a triumphant, open-jawed grin.

Archie settled back into his seat and closed his eyes to listen to Horatio read while raindrops began to patter the glass window.

***

Horatio soon got accustomed to the cadence of the coach. In larger towns, the coach would stop while the mails were handed to the local postmaster, and local mails bound for Penzance or points before were deposited. The remaining passengers on the top of the carriage exited at Weymouth, save one, and the autumn sun made its dive for the distant southwest horizon at what seemed to Horatio a rather early time.

As dusk turned to night, the oil lamps on either side of the carriage were lit, giving their faces a ghostly glow, for Archie now sat opposite Horatio, deeply ensconced in his copy of Tom Jones, absentmindedly taking bites of the apple.

He couldn’t help but stare. Couldn’t help but wonder how he loved this man, and how watching him sate his appetites gave him a pleasure he’d never felt before. His Archie was clothed, and comfortable, warm inside the carriage with him, his expression pleasant, cheeks rosy, and eyes bright, and that warmed Horatio’s feeling. His Archie was well fed, and that peaked his satisfaction. His Archie was entertained and enjoying pleasure, and this made him dumbly smile.

Horatio involuntarily shivered and pulled his cape close when he thought about what he’d told Archie when he’d felt so broad in his arms the night before—that he loved Archie’s life more than his own. It wasn’t just passionate foolishness; he thought to himself—he meant it.

The moon had risen and Horatio could still see the sea shimmering in the distance from the road, which followed the ridge of headlands that sloped down toward a sandy bank running alongside the coast. This was lonely country, and mail stops became fewer. At Abbotsbury, there was a great rumble as the carriage came to a stop, and an almost immediate commotion ensued when the wife of the coaching innkeeper let out a startled yelp loud enough to draw patrons into the yard.

Archie dog-eared Tom Jones and set it down, searching Horatio’s face for understanding.

“Can you see what it is, Horatio?”  
“Stay here, Archie,” Horatio said, absentmindedly, opening the door of the carriage to step out.

There was a fine mist floating through the air although the night sky was clear; Horatio could see it illuminated in the lamps carried by the local crowd and those on the side of the coach. In front of the coach, next to one of the horses, was the figure of a man lying face down in the mud, not moving.

“Is he dead?” The coachman called from his place atop the coach.

“I can’t tell!” The postmaster’s wife protested. She was a thin, middle-aged woman in a dark green dress with straight hair flowing from under a lace cap, a long nose, and a shrewd countenance.

“Of course ye can’t tell, woman! Turn him over and have thee a look! Oy, hand over those mails!” He called to the guards at the back of the coach.

The guards unceremoniously dropped two leather-bound packages at the foot of the postmaster, while his wife had uncovered the man’s neck and felt for a pulse.

“Aye, gone to the next world, he has.” She said, matter-of-factly. The men gathered around the carriage removed their hats.

The next sound Horatio heard was the man’s trunk hitting the mud, having been tossed from the top of the carriage by the guard.

“Back onboard, lad, we’re driving on,” the driver grunted at Horatio.

“I say, wait just a minute,” The postmaster finally spoke up. He was similar in build and countenance to his wife; they could almost have been siblings. He was dressed more like a parson than anything else—entirely in black. “We have no way of knowing this man expired in this district—he could have died miles ago! He may not be our responsibility.”

The coachman had no time for quarrel. “He was discovered dead at this stop, and he’s been offloaded. Them’s the rules, mate. Sort it out. Boy!”

Horatio stared at the scene for a moment before realizing the coachman had meant him, and he cast a glance atop the coach.”

“Yes, you, boy!” The coachman was getting red in the face. “Back in the carriage unless you want to stay. We’ve got a schedule to keep.” One of the horses grunted, almost for emphasis.

Horatio shot a piteous glance at the postmaster and his wife, and wordlessly climbed back into the coach, suddenly more worried about being left behind than the embarrassment of being called “boy” in spite of his officer’s uniform. It set off before he’d even closed the door, and Horatio peered through the window, not at all envying the job now faced by the local postmaster.

“What was it, Horatio?” Archie asked, his eyes set with worry.

“One of the topside passengers—a man—died and fell off the front of the carriage when it stopped.” Horatio said, still rather wonderstruck.

“Poor blighter.” Archie said, frowning.

Horatio pondered while he watched the darkened countryside slip past.

“Alive one moment, dead the next,” he said to no one in particular. “Just gone, like that.”

“You’ve seen enough men die at sea,” Archie said.

“And on land, for that matter,” Horatio said, “My father’s a doctor, but this felt sudden. Senseless.”

They rode on in silence for several miles. Horatio could tell from Kennedy’s expression—what he could make out in the dark—that he was alone with his own thoughts. At length, he switched back to the front-facing bench alongside Horatio and took up his hand again under his cloak.

“You’ve never been in love before,” Archie said quietly into his ear.

“No.” Horatio responded slowly. “Why?”

“It changes your senses, I think.” Archie mused. “More aware, you are, more sensitive.”

“And one less person to look inside.” Horatio said aloud, not meaning to.

“Nobody’s looking inside.” Archie rolled his eyes before resting his head on Horatio’s shoulder.

Horatio began to protest but Archie’s warmth was difficult to argue with.

“I shall remain awake,” he said, “to keep watch.”

Archie responded with light snores.

***

The coach reached Sudpool precisely on schedule the following morning—so on schedule, in fact, that the clock in the center of town was just striking the first of nine bells when the coach came to a stop in front of the post office.

“By Jove, is that Horatio Hornblower?” the Postmaster called.

“It is, George,” Horatio said with a broad smile as he stepped down from the carriage. “At your service. Good to see you again.”

George was a stout middle-aged man with white hair, rosy cheeks and a permanent smile, carrying a long white tavern pipe.

“You’re bound for Fisher’s I presume, to see your father,” George started. “He’s been in residence a fortnight already; it might be a long visit this year—there are several bones need setting after the harvest and several lingering rheumatisms.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, George,” Horatio said.

His and Archie’s sea chests were unceremoniously dumped from the top of the coach and Horatio was inwardly thankful that the cobblestones were relatively dry and free from muck.

He started to pick up the case handle but George stopped him, “Nay, Mister Hornblower, I’ll have my boy fetch the trap and drive you up to the cottage—Mrs. Davies already gone up this mornin’, eh, who’s this stranger?”

Realizing he meant Archie, Horatio turned around and brought Archie forward gently by the elbow. “George Hammersmith, may I present Lieutenant Archie Kennedy, of His Majesty’s Ship Indefatigable.”

Archie took off his bicorn and bowed. “At your service.”

“Brought a friend with ye, how merry,” George beamed. “He’ll be popular with the local ladies,” he said with the pipe between his teeth.

Archie and Horatio both blushed.

“Come now, I’ll send ye both up in the trap—I expect you’ll be wanting to rest after your journey—from Portsmouth, was it?”

Horatio nodded.

“Aye, a good long journey,” George said, nodding. “George! Fetch the trap for these two gen’lemen officers and drive them to Fisher’s Cottage!”

A boy of about fourteen scurried off.

“Named after me, he is,” George said with pride. “My grandson.”

“Do you wish to check the mail before we set out for the cottage?” Horatio asked, “In case there’s any for Papa?”

“Nay, Mr. Hornblower, nay,” George said in between puffs, “Let thee rest—I sends the boy back up t’cottage every afternoon I does, and he takes the mails up then. Never any for the cottage at any rate, per’aps once a week, most.”

“Thank you, George. We’re most obliged.”

“Anytime, anytime ye needs, Mr. Hornblower,” George prattled. “Best regards to the good doctor now, and tell Mrs. Davies there be fresh eggs at the market today—I expect she’ll come down the hill the minute she sees you lot, right as rain.”

The younger George pulled up in the trap, with hay strewn on the bed, and lifted both trunks in so effortlessly for his relatively small stature that both Horatio and Archie took notice.

“Where are the seats?” Archie whispered to Horatio.

Sometimes Horatio forgot that Archie was well bred. He smiled pointedly and sat down on the rear edge of the trap, with his feet dangling off the unenclosed back end.

Archie dimpled and rolled his eyes, having realized he’d betrayed his class.

“Alright, then,” he chuckled and sat down.

The merry postmaster took another long drag on his pipe and waved them off as the trap set out in the morning sun, first tracking through the square where the marketing was being done in full vigor, and Horatio noticed that George had been quite right—there were rows and rows of fresh eggs for sale.

“Most of the village fishes,” Horatio explained, “So they eat fish every day, often for breakfast, too,” Archie nodded while he listened. “The eggs come from the farms inland, up the hill, but the walk is several hours so they don’t come every day.”

He continued his patter about local landmarks as they passed the boat harbor, which was empty as the vessels were all out at the fishing grounds until the evening tide, and when they turned away from the coast and up toward the green ridge making up the east end of the bay, Horatio gestured to the top of the ridgeline.

“Fisher’s Cottage is over that ridge on a small cove,”

“It’s a small village; we’re out of it already,” Archie noted.

“Yes, a very small town, and a very small tidal estuary. The manor house is just up the hill to the Northeast, there.” Horatio pointed over another green hill.

As the trap crested the ridge, Archie’s eyes widened, “It’s beautiful,” he said.

The green ridge curved around a perfect semi-circle cove where the water was emerald colored and dotted with seabirds, the beach punctuated by shale colored stones and rocks, which shocked into vibrant green grass surrounding a gravel footpath up to a whitewashed, two-story cottage with a gabled slate roof and light blue shutters with twin chimneys on each end, although only one was apparently lit, producing a lazy curl of blue-gray smoke.

“We’ve finally arrived.” Horatio beamed as the trap pulled to a stop at the gate. “Are you ready to meet my Father?”

Archie gulped, “No. But I’ll cope.”

Horatio smiled. “He’ll like you, Archie.” He patted Archie’s hand on the floor of the trap next to his.

Archie gave a nervous smile, squinting as the sun hit his face and his bangs fluttered in the sea breeze.

“I’ll cope.”


	3. Fish & Formality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes arrive at Fisher's Cottage, where they meet the housekeeper, Mrs. Davies; Horatio reveals a secret from years past.

Mrs. Davies gathered her skirts and broke into a trot through the garden as soon as she recognized Horatio.

“Why Mr. Hornblower, sir, it’s such an honor to see you! It’s been years and years!” 

Although the garden was small and her run short, she arrived panting. She stood barely five feet, with close-cropped white hair covered in a widow’s cap, and her dress and apron were still covered in flour. 

“Mrs. Davies,” Horatio smiled broadly. “It’s very good to see you again, too. I see the place hasn’t changed.” 

“Aye, t’never changes, this place, standing strong and fine against whatever the sea bring yuhr,” she prattled in a wide-throated southern Welsh accent. 

“I wish I’d have known you were comin’” she continued, “I’d have aired the bed in the spare room and ordered a better dinner. Doctor Hornblower just left a few hours ago and said not to expect him—up on the moor he is, and he dines an’ sleeps at the big house when he’s up that side of the county. You can ‘ave what I’m ‘avin’ but I’m afraid it’s nothing much better than kippers an—I say, who’s this dashing ginger lad, then?” 

Archie had stepped off the trap and was standing a shoulder behind Horatio. 

“Ah, yes,” Horatio straightened. “Lieutenant Kennedy, may I present Mrs. Davies, the housekeeper at Fisher’s Cottage.” 

Archie doffed his bicorn.

Mrs. Davies blushed. “Oh, there’s no need for such formalities’ uhr, Lieutenant. You’re in lonely country now, and we don’t stand much on ceremony. Come thee indoors, you must both be wretched tired. And take those chests upstairs, boy, the spare room as at the top of the stairs on the right.” 

The boy grunted under the weight of Archie’s chest, which he had taken down off the trap first, but wordless, proceeded inside. 

“And how is Father?” Horatio asked as they followed him. “He is well, I hope?” 

“Aye, your father is well as can be for a gentleman of his age,” Mrs. Davies sighed, “If it’s not too bold sir, and you’ll tell me I’m sure if it is, but I must admit a bit of surprise that he’s never remarried in all these years after your dear lady mother went on to her reward God rest her,”

“No, not too bold, madam,” Horatio smiled, stiffly. 

Just past the mudroom was a short hall, a sitting room to the left and a dining room to the right, fireplaces at the far end of each, although only the dining room fire was lit. A narrow staircase led to a landing.

“That’s new,” he pointed up the stairs. 

“Several year ago now,” Mrs. Davies noted. Had that window put in on the landing after his Lordship visited and noted how dark it was in the house—particular he is sometimes—does nobody occupy this house but your father and the occasional visiting farrier—most guests stay up at the big house. I don’t even live here anymore—too lonely I think—I just works during the day and at night I stay with my sister’s family in town.” By the time she’d finished her ramble she’d finished pouring two cups of tea from the service already set out on the dining table. 

“Oh yes, Mrs. Davies, Mr. Hammersmith bid me mention that the market has fresh eggs today,” 

“My word, Mr. Hornblower, why didn’t you mention it sooner?” Mrs. Davies’s face suddenly took on an urgent drive. “Is that boy still here?” 

Horatio nodded. 

Mrs. Davies wasted no time grabbing her shawl and hurrying outside, hurling tidbits of news over her shoulder as she went. 

“Remember the guest room beds haven’t been aired, and there’s hot water in the kettle on the kitchen hearth, and there’s plenty more tea, and lay out your washing—men always have plenty of washing.” 

“I’ll be back this afternoon, poppets!” she called from the trap as the horses began to walk on. “So good to see you Mr. Hornblower, and nice to meet you Mr. Kennedy!”

She waved excitedly for some time, almost until the trap had crept over the ridge and out of sight. 

Horatio turned and went back inside, but the moment he stepped over the threshold and turned to close the door he was set upon by a flash of auburn hair that almost knocked the wind out of him as he was thrown up against the door, startled by the sound of it slamming as Archie clung to him tight and kissed him as though he were trying to devour him whole. 

“Archie” he laughed when the kiss finally broke, “You’re certainly eager.”

“I’ve waited long enough.” Archie said between kisses. “I had to taste you again,”

“Fair enough—oof!” Horatio gasped as he felt Archie’s hands drift down below his buttocks and hoist him up against the door. Almost reflexively, he wrapped his legs around Archie’s midsection and felt his weight settle onto Archie’s shoulders as he hugged him tighter to keep from slipping. He could feel Archie’s erection pressing at the inside of his thigh. 

“Think you can carry me?” He teased. 

“You’ve carried me.” Archie’s eyes twinkled. “And you weigh less.” 

“So I do,” Horatio mused. He was still astonished at his friend’s strength. 

The next thing he knew Archie had pulled him away from the door and was carrying him upstairs. He clung tighter as his weight suddenly felt less supported as Archie began to walk, and some of his footfalls belied that while strong, his weight was a bit more than Archie was comfortable carrying a great distance. He began to really worry near the top of the stairs that Archie would lose his balance and they’d tumble back down together, but Archie soon kicked open the door of the spare bedroom with his boot and they tumbled onto the bed together. 

Perched atop Horatio, with his hips fit squarely between his thighs, Archie began to kiss him with unquenchable thirst, pulling away long enough to catch his breath and stare into Horatio’s eyes with an almost crazed smile while he gulped in air and traced the line of Horatio’s jaw with the back of his index finger. 

What Horatio saw in those eyes nearly shocked him. The earnest, sweet demeanor of his Archie had all but evaporated in the heat; he now saw a boundlessly driven Archie whose brow cocked and whose lips curled with depravity. While Archie kissed him and ground his erection into Horatio’s groin, Horatio couldn’t help but feel the panic rising in his throat. If he did this, there would be no going back and if pressed he could no longer deny that he hadn’t engaged in an offence against the Royal Navy and the Crown. 

But those sparkling eyes, he thought. Those sparkling eyes and that golden glint in the dusting of hair across his chest that he noticed when Archie broke away to pull off his shirt and fling it away. Horatio felt almost out of his own body as he watched Archie pull his own shirt off him and fling it into the growing pile of clothing on the floor next to the bed beside their lined up sea chests. 

Archie pulled back and sat up on the bed and licked his lips as he smoothed his palm between Horatio’s nipples, his fingers briefly teasing the wispy hairs on his chest before progressing down his midsection to grasp his erection through his breeches. Horatio gasped as Archie gripped his hand around it and squeezed, just tight enough to make it pulse right down to the base of his spine. 

The panic boiled over. 

“Archie, stop.” He breathed. 

“What, why?” Archie looked panicked as if caught in a lie. 

“It doesn’t,” Horatio gulped, “It doesn’t feel right, Archie,”

Archie’s satisfied smile deflated with quickness that shattered Horatio’s heart so thoroughly he began to feel tears well up in his eyes. 

“You seem to enjoy it,” Archie said, dejected. 

“I do,” Horatio pushed Archie’s hand away from his erection, still rock hard, and propped himself up on his arms while Archie settled back on his rear, off of Horatio’s hips. 

“And this is how you show it,” Archie said, biting his lip.   
“I’m sorry, Archie, I just,” Horatio knew he wasn’t making sense, and now he’d hurt Archie. “I do not know,” he was trying and failing to find the words he needed to express his reservations. 

“What do you not know?” He felt Archie stiffen. 

Even when he was upset and hurting, Horatio thought, Archie was beautiful. His pursed lips could not hide the easy smile they carried ready to flash in an instant. Horatio longed to trace down Archie’s stomach the way he’d done to Horatio, and reach into his breeches and feel the heat of his erection in his own hand, but he couldn’t. 

They’d both hang. 

“I do not know how I can lie, afterwards, if I am asked—if we’re discovered or confronted.” 

Archie let out a sigh. 

“Oh, Horatio,” his expression softened. “Thoughts of honor running through your mind even now,” 

Archie smirked and pulled Horatio up towards him by his hands, holding him close so that they were facing upright, hips together. Horatio instinctively wrapped his arms around Archie to hold himself up. 

“I thought it was something serious,” Archie grinned, “Like you do not actually love me; that it was all a ruse.” 

“I do love you Archie,” Horatio began to explain, but Archie kissed him. 

“I know that, fool,” Archie said softly, “So tell me of this, this hangup,” 

“If we are discovered, we are to die,” Horatio said, almost moved to shiver by the fear in his own voice. “After being disgraced and put out of character,” 

“Seems rather exciting, does it not?” Archie teased. “To love in secret, for the world condemns us,” 

“You expressed frustration over that very fact,” Horatio pointed out, “and now it amuses you.” 

“Nay,” Archie said, his expression suddenly grave, “Nay, Horatio, I understand fully the implications at stake. These violent delights have violent ends,” 

“More Shakespeare, I presume,” Horatio smiled.   
“But a pair of star-crossed lovers,” Archie smiled back, and kissed him again. 

“We’re already in far enough to be condemned,” he pointed out after they broke the kiss. 

“I know,” Horatio said, “And that I would not change,” 

Archie puffed in a breath, his face a mask of defiance. “Nor I,” he said quickly. “Death, disgrace, loss of character, whatever it’s to be, Horatio—I’d suffer all of that for you—for your love. If that’s fate, then so be it. You are my fate.” 

“If that’s settled, perhaps we can delay fate just slightly on his journey,” Horatio sighed. “Until I feel quite, ready, Archie. Prepared.” 

Archie leaned down and pressed a kiss to Horatio’s collarbone, while Horatio responded by hugging him closer. 

“You’re an elusive damned prize, Mr. Haitch,” Archie drawled in an imitation of Kitty Cobham’s Duchess. 

“Oh, don’t you start,” Horatio rolled his eyes while Archie failed to hold in a giggle. 

“Come on, let’s get dressed,” Archie said, standing up, “It’s too cold to just be here in our breeches if we’re not otherwise engaged,” he smirked. 

Horatio stood and pulled Archie back into an embrace, suddenly feeling taller again now that they were standing. 

“I will be comfortable in time,” he told Archie in a measured tone. 

Archie smiled, “I look most forward to it,” and kissed him again. 

Horatio gave a tight smile back, and squeezed Archie’s shoulders between his palms. 

After some time, he said, “I never touched her, you know,” 

Archie had turned and was picking up his shirt, his response barely audible. 

“I gathered,” he said. 

Horatio felt somehow hurt, “You do not think I could have done,” he ventured. 

Archie wriggled into his shirt and gave Horatio an exasperated look. 

“You are an honorable man and Miss Cobham is a manipulator who views every situation as a means to her own profit.” Archie sighed. “You do not well estimate character, Horatio, least of all when it concerns women.” 

“And I suppose you do not think my behavior in France prudent?” 

Archie was tucking his shirt back into his pants, and Horatio noticed his erection had long since subsided. He did not answer immediately. 

“Infatuation makes fools of all men. Do you recall how I chattered on when you first arrived on Justinian?” 

“You were beguiled, even then?” Horatio began to blush. 

Archie plucked Horatio’s shirt from the bed and began to turn it around to find the front before slipping it over Horatio’s head. He locked eyes with Horatio while Horatio felt for the sleeves. 

“From the first moment,” Archie smiled. “I thought that if I kept talking I could keep you all to myself as long as I went on,” 

“And you knew all this time?” Horatio blurted out. 

“Well, I…” Archie began to stammer, but straightened up. “I’ve told you, I was frightened. Even if it had gone bad and I had lived, the thought of losing you as even a friend, Horatio,” He grasped Horatio by the biceps. 

“It was a comfort, Archie,” Horatio smiled. “Having someone to look after me,” 

Archie smiled, and slipped his arms around Horatio’s shoulders. 

“I wanted to die.” Horatio swallowed. “I might have, without your company,”

“I wanted to die.” Archie returned. “More than once. And you’ve literally saved me, more than once.”

“I think more about the times I couldn’t, and I imagine it will only get worse.” Horatio lamented. 

“Worse?” 

“Some years ago, in a longboat, duty called upon me to strike the wits out of the prettiest head in His Majesty’s Navy to save the mission. Could I do the same now? Could I again sacrifice that head to that end if that were the choice I faced—knowing how you feel in my arms, how you—you taste.”

He bent over to kiss Archie again, but he felt his embrace stiffen and his expression tighten into a frown, while he worked out the meaning of Horatio’s confession. 

“I woke up in the longboat,” Archie started. “I thought I’d had a fit, but,”

“You had a fit,” Horatio felt green panic hit his joints. “The noise threatened our element of surprise; and you had to be silenced,” he explained, trying to sound as measured as he could. 

“I cannot believe you,” Archie said, shaking his head and dropping his arms out of the embrace. 

“Archie,” Horatio reached out for his friend’s hands. 

“No,” Archie shook his head, “Don’t,” he slipped into his shoes and started for the door, “Don’t say another word,” 

Confused, Horatio felt tears well up in his eyes as he watched what he’d just described as the prettiest head in the Royal Navy, the prettiest he’d in fact ever seen, descend the stairs in cloud of anger. 

He began to call after Archie again when he realized he’d gone out the front door. He felt the tears drop onto his cheeks and a lump begin to form in his throat as he wondered if Archie could ever love him again.


	4. Wandering Wondering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie considers his situation while he goes for a walk in the woods near the cottage; Horatio fears he's ruined everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian America is modern day Alaska.
> 
> Warning: Memory of past rape.

The white rage pulsing behind Archie’s eyes had subsided before he was even halfway down the stairs, and had settled into grey guilt by the time he reached the footpath toward the headlands on the east end of the bay. It was a sunny, yet, cool morning, and the smell of the sea air was familiar to him, yet not as comforting as he thought perhaps Horatio might have found it. 

He didn’t quite know why he was angry with Horatio for having been the one to strike him unconscious in the longboat those years ago. If anybody, it should have been Simpson to be furious at—he was, after all, the source of nearly all Archie’s anxiety both during and immediately after the times he’d been tormented onboard Justinian. 

As he thought about Simpson, the ground seemed to float beneath him and his footfalls along the path began to feel less heavy. He’d learned to catch himself in the years after, but this time, feeling almost depraved, he allowed the memory to wash over him as it took command of his senses and the color from the brilliant morning began to fade to the dull shades of grey. Why was it, he thought, that guilt and memories always managed to have the same color? 

Before his recollection on the boat faded, he’d remembered Simpson breathing down his neck. Today, he fixated on a large oak tree at the forefront of the thatch of trees running along the base of the headlands where the path curved, and the large swirled knot that was prominent at the base. It reminded him of the burl in the ships hull that he’d fixated on while Simpson was abusing him.

He’d follow the shape of the burl, thinking of the strong branch it must have once supported, trying to forget the feelings of disgust and shame—disgust at Simpson’s odious personage, creeping feel and foul breath, and shame that his body reacted as though he found it pleasurable. In one humiliating moment, much to his tormentor’s delight, he even climaxed. He’d done his best to hide it, but it was discovered, and his shame compounded immeasurably among the midshipmen. It was one thing to be abused, but it was another to enjoy it, and that was written plainly on the faces of his compatriots when Simpson had recounted the event. 

He floated on for some time in the world of grey, wishing it away, wishing he hadn’t lost his temper and fled. Wishing he’d stayed with Horatio in that cozy little cottage with the fire and the tea, and the bed. He wished away the grey world and finally, deep into the little thicket of trees, almost to the other side where the headlands turned back into windswept moor, was his wish granted and the grey scene swirled away into nothing. 

***

Archie heard the world return before he saw it, as he normally did. He could hear the distant crash of the waves on the shore, the rustle of the wind through the barren branches overhead, and the crunch of steps in the fallen leaves on the floor of the thicket. 

Who had come after him? He wondered. 

He opened his eyes back into a world of vibrant greens and browns and blues, almost face to face with a curious rabbit who was cautiously approaching and sniffing. 

Startled, he recoiled slightly, as did the rabbit, but it backed up only a few inches and remained staring, through beady black eyes, muscles tensed ready to flee at any sign of danger. 

It must have thought Archie was a threat when he drew in a deep breath and let it out, for the next thing he saw was the puffy little cotton tail bouncing away as the rabbit fled. It was a cute little bunny, and it oddly made him think of Horatio—someone to pet and have comfort from. Slightly jarred by the hasty exit of his fleeting companion, he sat up on his elbows, then back on his palms, taking inventory. 

He hadn’t bitten his tongue or his lip, for there was no blood in his mouth or on the ground. That had happened before and it had shocked him when he’d come around.  
He patted around his head, feeling for tenderness or lumps. He didn’t find any, and he didn’t have a headache, but there seemed an enormous amount of twigs in his hair, which was frightfully tangled. He realized he’d untied his ribbon when he was engaged with Horatio, and having not fixed it before he left it had fallen over his ears and touched his shoulders. 

He set to work fixing his hair, removing the twigs and dirt and leaves that had gotten into it and straightening it back out of his face when he realized with disgust he was sitting in a puddle. Yes, he’d pissed himself during his fit. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it was embarrassing nonetheless, even though there was nobody around to see him. 

“Bugger,” he said under his breath, and then laughed ruefully to himself. 

“There’s nobody around to hear,” 

“Bugger!” he said, louder, smiling as he heard the echo of his voice through the trees. 

He waited for a moment, thinking perhaps somebody might have heard him, but the wind and the surf continued their steady rhythm and nobody had called out in response. 

The ground almost seemed to hum beneath his palms, almost with the very rhythm of the forest. Forests seemed to hum, or lay completely still, and this was a forest that hummed, almost as if there were a great machine at work under the floor, driving the creatures and growing the foliage. 

When he’d had a fit, he tended to come back in flashes. He’d be hyperaware of his surroundings, and then it would fade and flash back in a dreamy memory. The sky would turn white and he’d see apparitions. This time they were of his kind old granny, which made him smile, and of his sister, which made him frown. They were fleeting, lasting only a few seconds each, but it was the third apparition, the one of his mother, at which he began to quietly cry. 

He felt wretched, sitting in the forest, on his palms with his pants wet, crying because he missed his mother. He brushed a hand on the side of his pants and used it to wipe away his tears, then push himself up off the forest floor, unsteadily for a moment but then stronger as his light head began to regain heft and direction. 

He brushed himself off and couldn’t seem to keep the tears from coming as he walked on through the forest, even though they fell without betraying any other expression on his face, and he began to wonder if he was crying because he missed his mother, or if it were for some other reason. He often pried through his thoughts during long watch hours and reached the conclusion that sometimes his feelings were neither under his control, not did they always mean what he’d assumed. 

Rationally considering the past few hours, he began to feel foolish for having acted so rashly when Horatio had told him about his actions in the long boat. He’d been angry for a moment, but Reason told him it was nothing to quibble over. No, he felt, he wasn’t angry with that. He was angry because of Horatio’s aborting what he felt certain was about to be their first—sex. Sex, he thought, he could think it, even if the thought of the word embarrassed him. Was it sex between men? 

“Buggery,” he breathed, more embarrassed by that word. It was more embarrassing than “bugger”, oddly—one was an expletive, the other could get you hanged. 

He longed to have sex with Horatio. Real sex—the kind that involved kissing and seeing each other naked. 

He sighed. Would that ever happen now? He’d yelled at him, and blamed him for hurting him. Horatio must certainly be angry. 

In spite of his wet pants, he felt his penis begin to stir, and he began to think of other things. It would not do to roam the countryside with an erection, in addition to having clearly pissed oneself—he’d be hauled off as mad. 

The trees began to disappear, and the grass grew longer where it grew in direct sunlight as he ventured out onto the headlands. He thought he’d venture out to the tip of the peninsula to see if there was a good view up the coast, or out to sea. 

Fisher’s cottage was briefly visible through a break in the trees, before disappearing again when the footpath disappeared behind a small grassy mound. The headlands were sloped away from the cove, and the footpath was near the bottom of the slope. It appears as though he’d be able to walk to the headlands out of view of the cottage, which gave him strange relief. He felt somewhat put out that Horatio hadn’t pursued him, or was at least looking for him, but if that were the case he felt somewhat better hidden—or at least knowing that Horatio couldn’t know all was well with him simply by looking out the window. Let him worry a bit. 

His ruefulness cut to guilt. Surely Horatio must be worried, even if he hadn’t followed. Mustn’t he? 

His thoughts continued unsettled as he made his way toward the headlands. A good long walk and a think would be exactly what he needed. 

***

Horatio was so worried about Archie he was on his fourth cup of tea by the time Mrs. Davies arrived back at the cottage in the late afternoon. 

“Mr. Hornblower!” She exclaimed upon entering the dining room, “I’ve had good fortune this afternoon! Not only are there fresh eggs from the market, but I’ve seen Mrs. Higgins from the big house and she’s sent a pair of grouse with his Lordship’s compliments. She bid me tell you that your Father has been detained on the moors and may be a few days more removed from the cottage—but what Providence that she’s provided such fine game birds, is it not, Mr. Hornblower?” 

Horatio eyed her as George, the same boy from the morning’s journey from the post office came in with a second parcel of groceries and took them into the kitchen. Mrs. Davies must have also got some other items at the market. 

“I shall get to roasting the birds straight away for your supper,” she continued. 

“But,” Horatio began,

“I know what you’re thinking Mr. Hornblower—I know you and your Father and your economy if it’s not so bold my saying so—the kippers won’t go to waste—I’ll make a coddle and leave the pot on the stove for you if you rise before I have returned in the morning for breakfast. Are you an early riser, Mr. Hornblower? Is Mr. Kennedy? Where is Mr. Kennedy?” 

“He’s, gone, for a walk,” Horatio started, not knowing if that were indeed true. 

“Not a poor day for a walk,” Mrs. Davies mused, “Gone to see the ruin, is he? Been ages since I’ve been up there myself, although the parson goes to tend the graves—you’ve not met our new parson, have ye Mr. Hornblower? He’s a young man, only just come to the village this year—he’s ever so handsome, I’m surprised a local lass hasn’t snatched him up,” she sighed and smiled to herself. 

“I believe so,” Horatio lied. 

“Well, I hope he’s back soon,” she prattled on, hanging her coat on a peg in the mudroom and donning her apron. 

“Oh, George, here’s a good boy, be on home, lad,” Horatio heard the clink of a few pennies as Mrs. Davies dropped them in the boy’s palm. “And well-wishes to your Grandfather,” she called over her shoulder as he waved a goodbye. 

“As I was saying, I do hope Mr. Kennedy returns soon—it’s that time of year the afternoons are shorter and bless me if I didn’t smell a squall coming in off the water,” 

Horatio smiled, familiar with the smell, and having forgotten that coastal dwellers were just as attuned with the patterns of the sea as he was as a mariner. 

Mrs. Davies tipped at the tea service to find the kettle was nearly empty. 

“Drank all my tea, have ye?” She smiled. “Nay mind, I’ll fetch some more hot water and we can both have another cup.” 

Horatio thanked her and stepped outside to relieve himself of his tea. He braced against the breeze and took in a deep breath. Mrs. Davies was right—there was definitely a storm on the make. 

***

Archie began to wish he’d grabbed his coat before he fled the cottage. It had been fair most of the day, but as he reached the tip of the headlands he noticed the sun was low on the horizon and the wind was steadier nearer the sea. 

He would have turned around and gone back to the house long ago, ready to face Horatio and offer his apologies for panicking and yelling at him for something long past, that he couldn’t really help. He’d had no other choice or they would have all faced the same fate. He kept walking, however, once he noticed the ruin sitting at the head of the peninsula. 

Once he’d got closer and noticed the remnants of a stonewall and a cluster of graves, he realized the ruin was a church. It appeared long abandoned and he deduced it must have been one of the churches that were reduced to ruin during the dissolution of the monasteries some centuries ago. 

He stepped through the door, noticing that only half of it remained, and saw that the roof had collapsed in the center, leaving only the entrance and the altar sheltered, and the windows had been robbed of their glazing. Similarly, there were no longer any seats or furnishings of any kind, save for various piles of dirt, twigs, and leaves in piles around the floor, having must have long blown through the windows. There was also, strangely, hay, strewn in the corners behind where the altar had once stood. That definitely had to have been placed by someone for it was fresh. 

He rarely felt any sort of divine presence, either in church or anywhere else, but he had a distinct feeling of accompaniment as he approached the altar. The feeling took up residence in his bones and made him feel peculiar, for he knew there was nobody else about the abandoned church. 

Standing at the long disused altar, his thoughts again turned to Horatio, and he wondered what the new parish church was like, and what Horatio was like in church. He stood through shipboard sermons stone-faced and expressionless, but he spent much time onboard ship in that manner. Archie smiled as he wondered if Horatio actually had song in his breath or if he mouthed the words like Archie had grown up watching his brother do. 

“There’s a storm coming in,” a voice called from behind, causing Archie to jump.  
Landing, he turned around to see a Parson framed in the doorway. No more than five feet tall, wearing a tricorn and a white shift, he had dark, rugged features that looked almost incongruous for one so small, that were broadened by a wide, knowing smile. He carried a tin lantern to one side, but it had not yet been lit, and Archie noticed that his cloak was too long and dragged several inches on the ground. 

“Begging your pardon Parson,” Archie began to stammer, “I did not think this sanctuary still in use,” 

He remembered himself. 

“Forgive me,” he straightened and saluted with a neck bow. “Lieutenant Archibald Kennedy, of His Majesty’s Ship Indefatigable, at your service.” When he looked back up he noted the Parson was staring at him, still smiling. 

“Luke Brewer, at yours, friend.” 

He didn’t miss a beat. 

“Are you staying at Fisher’s Cottage?” 

“Yes, how,” Archie was confused. They’d only just arrived that morning. Was the village really that small? 

“Mrs. Davies lives next door to the vicarage.” The rector kept smiling. “With the window closed I can still hear her chatter to her sister.” 

“Ah, yes,” Archie felt a smile creep up, “Welsh talent, that.” 

Luke nodded. 

“What is this place?” Archie asked. 

“St. Michael’s-by-the-Sea, as was.” Luke patted the stonework at the entrance. “Abandoned during the dissolution, but when I arrived I decided to visit and keep her up—the altar’s still consecrated in my mind, whatever the Church of England may have to say about the Papists.”

“I see.” Archie was for some reason uncomfortable by the presence of the stranger, even more so because he was oddly friendly for a parson; most in his acquaintance were horribly dull and rather full of themselves. This man, however, was amiable and handsome. 

They chatted for a few moments, as though they were standing outside a shop on the high street rather than in a draughty ruin on a hill overlooking the sea. There was something in Luke’s demeanor—in the sparkle of his eyes—that attracted Archie. He seemed like a direct counterpoint to Horatio, and that excited him. 

Luke pulled his cloak closer around himself and held his lantern up as the shadows of the afternoon began to paint the far wall of the church. 

“Come, I’ll see you back to the cottage.” He said. “I’ve this lantern and you won’t make it back before dark.” He waggled the lantern for emphasis. 

“That’s a ship’s lantern!” Archie exclaimed. 

Luke seemed confused. “It is? How does one tell a ships’ lantern?” 

“Most lanterns are vented on the top,” Archie explained, “A ship’s lantern is vented on the bottom, which allows water drainage when swamped. It’s a nice one, too, I see, the kind that is always level when moved,” 

Luke, fascinated, held the lantern in front of his face and tilted it back and forth. The candle in the center remained motionless. 

“So it is,” he smiled. “I’ve had a ship’s lantern all this time and never knew it. At any rate, Lieutenant, we must ‘shove off’ as it were—there’s a storm coming and you’d best get indoors.”

Luke moved to put an arm around Archie’s shoulders in a friendly gesture to lead him out of the church, but he wasn’t quite tall enough and Archie felt his hand land on his left flank. Nevertheless, he felt warm, despite his lack of outerwear. 

***

Horatio hadn’t realized he’d taken to pacing in front of the fireplace in the sitting room before Mrs. Davies mentioned it. 

“Aye, lad, if you’ve energy to spend there’s firewood needs chopping down the back.” She said with a cautious smile. “I got through most of it this morning, but as it’s about to get wet I’d be more comfortable with it stacked split and dry in the kitchen. You don’t mind, Mr. Hornblower, sir?” 

“Nay,” Horatio shook himself out of his ministrations. “Capital idea, Mrs. Davies,” 

He rolled up his shirtsleeves as he made toward the back of the house. It would give him a chance to keep watch out for Archie. 

They were fortunate, in this part of Devon, to be quite close to a thicket of trees for firewood. If you lived up on the moor you had quite a journey to make to get firewood, or you could buy it in town, but it was expensive. Most of the shepherds who lived on the moor burned peat in their ovens. It was more readily available and burned longer and hotter, but it had a tendency to make homes smell of soil. 

You could always tell somebody who lived on the moor, because they smelled like peat smoke. He would forever associate the smell of burning cypress with Archie, for it was a cypress that burned in that small prison bedroom in Spain, and when Archie was wearing the right shirt, Horatio could still swear he smelled like that cypress smoke. 

There wasn’t a great deal of wood that needed to be split, and he was just splitting the last log when the rain he’d been smelling on the horizon for the better part of the afternoon finally began to fall, in big, fat, almost summer-like drops—quite strange for the time of year, but then it was also unseasonably warm. 

“Come in, Mr. Hornblower, before you catch your death,” he heard Mrs. Davies call out the kitchen door. 

“And leave those few splinters, we’ve got more than enough to sustain,” she called. 

Horatio grabbed them anyway—just a few stray pieces, really—and shook the water out of his hair before stepping into the kitchen. 

“These birds are nearly finished, and I’ve set a place for Mr. Kennedy. The rain should drive him back presently,” she said. 

Horatio stepped into the kitchen and the pleasant smell of roasting game bird and warmth of the stove was a stark contrast with the worsening weather outside. 

Mrs. Davies was bent back over the stove with the oven door open, inspecting the birds, which seemed cooked to her satisfaction. 

“There’s a pitcher of warm water on the table there,” she called out. 

Horatio set about rinsing his hands, face, and neck. It stung a bit on his cheeks and he realized they must have been windblown working outside. 

“You’ve not set a place for yourself, Mrs. Davies?” 

“Nay,” said she, “The trap’s coming back from the village any moment and I’ll be off to leave you and Mr. Kennedy, when he returns, to your vittles,” she said, having taken the roasting pan out of the oven and wiping her hands on her apron. “I’ve a bed to look forward to at my sister’s.” 

At this, she gave a tight smile, and Horatio realized that he’d never considered there wasn’t a servant’s quarters in the cottage – a boarded domestic would have slept on a pallet next to the stove overnight.

“Oh, I hear him now, in fact,” he heard her call from the kitchen, and before he knew it she darted out from it with her heavy hooded cloak already on, with the pan of game birds, which she set on the table that Horatio hadn’t noticed was already handsomely dressed, while a stout fire crackled merrily on the hearth. 

“Put some logs on the fire before you retire, Mr. Hornblower, and it should smolder until the dawn. Just leave the dishes once you’ve finished – I shall see to them in the morning, and there’s bread and butter in the crock and that kipper stew if you find yourself peckish before I’m back in the morning!” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Davies, you’ve been most helpful,” Horatio said. 

“God save you Mr. Hornblower, and good night,” she rushed out the door and Horatio heart the trap clatter off just seconds later, not envying even the short ride back to the village in the wind and rain. 

Horatio stared for a moment at the comforting domestic scene laid out before him on the table. The game birds, a salver of boiled potatoes and another of buttered carrots, and slices of dark bread reminded him he hadn’t eaten much that day—he’d been too preoccupied with worry. 

But now he sat down to supper, and with nobody to slow his dining with conversation, found he could consume an entire game bird, two helpings of vegetables, half the bread, and a mug of ale in short order. Leaving the rest of the meal for Archie should he arrive, he took a seat by the fire and continued reading King’s volumes. 

Captain Cook’s expedition had just set off from the Sandwich Islands for Russian America in search of the Northwest package when he heard voices out the back door, toward the sea. 

He set down his book and plucked the candelabra off the table to investigate. When he reached the back door and swung it open he noticed the wind and rain had intensified, and threatened to blow out his candles. He thought to look about for a lantern but he realized the men coming up the path carried one. 

As they drew closer he noticed the taller of the men was limping, and leaning heavily on his much shorter companion for support, but he recognized the clothes and frame, and knew immediately it was Archie. He appeared to have hurt his leg. The other man Horatio had never seen before. 

The two men reached the back door and Horatio felt a lump in his throat as he began to worry that Archie might still be cross with him. 

“Lieutenant Kennedy,” Horatio began, remaining formal in the sight of a stranger, “I was beginning to worry,” 

“Horatio,” Archie grinned. “You know I’m cat-like. I’ve got nine lives.” 

Horatio grinned back and heartily ached in suppressing the urge to take his friend in his arms and shower him with kisses. 

“I’m glad,” Horatio said.


	5. Getting Settled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horatio is relieved to find Archie has returned: with a visitor.

"Do come inside, both of you,” Horatio said. “It is a poor night.” 

“This is the local Parson,” said Archie. 

His eyes, alert as ever, did not betray any loss of affection from that morning. Horatio kept his gaze as long as he could in an attempt to discern any signal, but he found only Archie’s typical brightness, albeit a rather soggy, shivering one. 

“Yes, Luke Brewer, Lieutenant Hornblower, village parson, at your service.” He gave a stiff salute. 

Horatio reluctantly turned toward the diminutive clergyman.

“And I at yours, sir,” Horatio said, saluting stiffly. “Please, come inside; you must take off your cloak and hang it to dry by the fire, and while it dries you must warm yourself and take supper with us.” 

Horatio could tell by the parson’s expression that he was about to demure. 

“And I shall brook no refusal—it is too poor a night for you to continue on. There is a bed here for you if the night does not improve.” 

“A chair by the fire would suit me,” Luke began. 

“Nonsense,” Horatio said, stepping aside and bustling them both through the kitchen into the dining room. “A bed we have, and tonight you shall have. The bedrooms here are well vented with heat, and you will be very comfortable.”

“You’re most kind.”

“I’ll go change as well,” Archie said. 

Horatio gave him as warm a smile as he could muster, and a nod. His heart had begun to pound the moment he’d seen that Archie had returned to him, but he could not tell from his expression exactly whether he’d been forgiven. With a visitor, he wouldn’t have a moment to ask. 

He focused on the sound of Archie’s clodding up the stairs in clothes and boots soaked through, but when he pictured his friend beginning to strip out of his clothes he shook himself back to reality, noticing that the parson had removed his cloak and hanged it near the hearth before falling heavily into the large wingback chair facing it. His arms dropped not a moment over those of the chair when Horatio heard a great clatter. 

“What is this contraption?” Luke asked with an amused expression, holding up an iron cage with a wooden handle. 

“’tis a toaster, Parson.”

“Seems an awful lot of work for making toast when one could simply use the poker.”

“That pierces the toast.” Horatio said, matter-of-factly. He could not tell whether the man’s observation were in jest. 

The parson’s expression quickly betrayed his intent and Horatio could see he was attempting not to laugh. 

“Aye, ‘tis a bonny life in Dorset when the state of our breakfasts is in graver danger than the nation, eh Lieutenant?” he smirked. 

“You are not from Dorset, then, parson?” Horatio asked. 

“Nay, Lancashire, canna ye tell?” He smiled. 

Horatio knew the man’s speech and manners were genteel, but he chuckled to himself at the impression. 

“And how came thee here?” Horatio asked. He knew he was bordering on impertinence, but he supposed if he were to welcome a stranger into what was essentially his lodging for the evening, he had right to know some sense of the man’s character. 

“The typical course,” Luke sighed into the chair, back to posh manners. “I’m a younger son with too much education to do anything else. I left Magdalen last year and the church saw fit to send me to the parish here. It is a good community.”

Horatio smiled again as Luke put his elbow up on the arms of the chair and seemed to attempt to pyramid his fingers, but he found the arms of the chair too far apart. Failing to appear distinguished, in spite of being soaking wet, he settled instead for sitting upward in the chair and resting his arms, appearing somewhat uncomfortable, on the armrests. 

Horatio remembered himself and drew in a sharp breath. 

“Forgive me, parson, you must have some of our vittles. We’ve grouse this evening – I’ll fetch another plate.” In a swift movement, Horatio was on his feet bound for the kitchen. 

“I’m quite all right,” Luke began to protest, “I’ve eaten,”

“You shall have a goblet of our wine as well,” Horatio ignored him. “I must say I appreciate your conveying Lieutenant Kennedy back to the cottage—he is a stranger to this country and I fear may have found it difficult to find in the dark.” 

As he busied himself in the kitchen, finding another place setting and a goblet, he began to wonder what was keeping Archie. It wouldn’t take so long to change into dry clothing. 

He returned and quickly laid out the place setting in front of the parson, portioned out the quickly cooling food and poured a drabble of wine, and almost distractedly excused himself and made his way up the stairs, carefully for Archie had taken the only other candle up with him, and he couldn’t well deprive his guest of the candelabra. He could see the light flickering on the landing through the cracked bedroom door. 

He felt as though he were trying to maintain footing in the rigging of his ship as he approached the door and knocked, softly. 

His voice was even softer, and the almost feminine pitch surprised him. 

“Archie?” 

He looked down the stairs to make sure he hadn’t been followed, swallowing what felt near to shame at his own tenderness. 

He pushed the door open and found Archie sprawled on the bed in just his shirt, wrists at the level of his eyes as though he’d thrown up his hands before falling in the manner of a swoon. 

He looked smaller, somehow, on the bed by himself; his hair dark with damp. 

Horatio couldn’t help himself. He leaned over and nuzzled that still-flushed cheek, feeling the clammy cold it still carried. He resisted the urge to envelope him, instead pressing a kiss to his lips, which woke him with a start, and light seemed to return to the room when his eyes drew open. 

They immediately focused on him, and the brightness grew as they slanted into a smile. 

“Hello.” He said with his tongue pressed against his lips. 

Horatio looked over his shoulder again before returning his focused gaze to Archie’s. 

“I was worried.” He almost whispered. 

Archie kissed him. 

“I’m forgiven, then?” Horatio asked. 

Archie nodded. “Feel a bit silly, really.” He pressed his hand into Horatio’s back. “Come to bed.” 

“I must entertain the parson.” Horatio said.

“The parson is entertaining enough on his own,” Archie smiled. “He is a most amusing fellow—even in the rain and wind.”

“That I do not doubt.” Horatio said, “But I must ensure he is settled before I retire.” 

“When you do, I shall be here, waiting.” Archie said, playfully, as he twisted his hands around Horatio’s wrists where he was supporting himself on the bed. 

“Archie we can’t,” 

“I know,” Archie stopped him. “But we can be near.” 

“Yes,” Horatio agreed, “We can be near.”

He felt an erection begin to sprout, and he knew it would be difficult to get rid of the longer he stayed. 

“Will you not eat?” Unless Archie had found something to satisfy his hunger in the woods, Horatio calculated, he had eaten nothing since that morning. 

“I suppose. Grouse, it was?” 

“Aye, fine ones. Very little shot.”

“I’ll be along presently,” he almost whispered.  
“In dry clothes, perhaps,” Horatio smiled. 

“Naturally,” Archie shot back. “Take the candle. There is light from the vent still.” 

“I am taking your wet boots, as well, to warm by the fire,” Horatio said, picking them up, wincing at how soaked they were. 

Out the corner of his eye he could see Archie sit up on his forearms; he could almost feel his stare boring his backside as he left. 

Luke looked up from his plate, wiping his lips with his napkin when Horatio re-entered the room, and Horatio noticed that he’d already finished half his food. The parson seemed to have read his thoughts. 

“I find my appetite has returned,” he said. 

Horatio smiled. “I am glad of it. Waste not,” 

“And you’ve so kindly satisfied me of Want,” the parson finished. “Really, you have been most kind.” 

“Nonsense,” Horatio returned, dropping the boots by the hearth and settling into the chair opposite Luke. “We’ve more than we can eat between the two of us, and it is too fine for the hog.” 

“It is indeed fine,” Luke regarded his plate. “Mrs. Davies, is it?” 

Horatio nodded. “She’s been at the cottage as long as Father and I have been visiting.” 

“Dr. Hornblower is your father, I presume,” Luke regarded his plate with a smile. “The resemblance is striking,” 

“That accusation is common.” Horatio smiled. “Myself, I don’t see the likeness.” 

“I could only ever imagine one countenance such as yours,” Archie appeared in the doorway, tying back his hair. He’d changed shirts and trousers and had even bothered to don stockings and a kerchief, but he was wearing cabin slippers that made him look foppish, and Horatio couldn’t help but stifle a bemused smile. 

He sat easily in the chair opposite the Parson, as easily as it might have been his family home since childhood, rather than having arrived as a guest that very morning. His ability to be comfortable virtually anywhere had always amazed Horatio. 

Archie began to pick at his plate as reticently as he normally did, while Horatio fussed about arranging his boots next to the hearth and entertained small talk from the Parson. 

Before too long, Horatio began to notice the Parson beginning to drag in his conversation. 

“You are tired—it might be time for us all to retire for the evening. Come, Parson, I’ll show you the spare bedroom.”

“You are most kind.” 

“Come with us, Archie—it will be difficult to find your way once I’ve taken the candles.” 

“The plates?” Archie gestured across the table. 

“Mrs. Davies will fetch them in the morning,” Horatio yawned. 

Wordlessly, Archie picked up and followed them. 

The spare bedroom was opposite their own on the landing atop the stairs. Horatio noted that his father hadn’t left much in the way of personal effects, almost as if he’d been expecting to spend an extended period away from the cottage. He wondered if he’d packed them when he’d left or sent for them once it became clear he’d be staying longer. 

Archie retired to their own room immediately while Horatio spent a few minutes knocking about his father’s bedroom, checking the sheets and poking about for what he thought he might have remembered to be a spare candlestick. 

“I’m quite all right in the dark, I assure you,” Luke pleaded with a chuckle in his voice. 

Horatio found the candlestick in the top drawer of the dresser. 

“Nonsense—it won’t do. Must take some pride in one’s hospitality. Found it!”

He went to light the stick from the candle that he’d set down on the dresser, but found that the wick had burned entirely into the wax, and he’d have to carve it out for it to be of any use. 

Luke noticed his struggle. “Just melt it, it will light.”

Horatio muttered to himself it would be wasteful. He would be more economical with a knife. 

“I shall leave this one with you and mend this. Shan’t be a moment.” 

He could already hear Archie snoring softly from their bedroom as he headed down the stairs. He thought for a split second about the table knives leftover from their meal, but thinking them too dull, he spent several minutes searching the kitchen for a paring knife. 

He could feel the sweat beading on his brow as he rushed, not wanting to inconvenience the parson. 

Half-expecting him to be asleep already, he half-stumbled when he went back into the bedroom and found the parson sitting on the bed. He’d stripped to his shirt and had one knee hugged below his chin while he was slipping off his stockings. His genitals were plainly visible, appearing to rest gently on the bedclothes, capped at their root by a thick shock of black pubic hair.

“I apologize, I, um,” 

He coughed, averting his eyes from the parson’s crotch, finding instead his eyes, which bore into him with a pleasant intensity he couldn’t quite place the emotion behind. 

“Your, uh,” Horatio continued to stammer. 

His gaze fell lower again, and back to Luke’s eyes. There, he found surprise, as the man remembered himself and drew his shirt down to cover his privates. 

“The candle; you’re most kind.” Luke smiled. 

Feeling shame in his erection, Horatio nodded stiffly and stepped out. “If you are settled, I’ll bid you good night,”

He did not wait for an answer, and retreated to his own room, carefully closing the door into its frame so as not to wake Archie, whom he’d noticed had stopped snoring. 

Somehow the bedclothes were still cold when he slipped into them next to his friend. 

“Your feet are cold,” Archie said softly, but quite wide awake. 

“I am sorry,” Horatio smiled, setting the candlestick down on his sea chest next to the bed. 

He barely finished his apology before Archie drew him close and kissed him.  
“Archie,” he said between kisses, “The parson is with us,” 

“On the other side of a very locked door,” Archie’s voice betrayed no bother, though Horatio wouldn’t have blamed him if it had. It had been days of interrupted intimacy now—were they ever to enjoy a moment’s peace? 

Archie’s hands quickly found his erection and soon after, the tails of his shirt, and before he knew it, they were both rid of the last of their clothing. Careful to make no sound, the bedclothes soon became very warm indeed. 

The did nothing approaching the specific act that the Navy might have condemned them for, but it took very little time for either of them to reach their end; Horatio first, then Archie a moment later, suspended over Horatio, lips pursed so that he wouldn’t cry out. 

Horatio held Archie’s head in his palms until his last pulses subsided, and for a flash of a moment he almost felt as though that face were indistinguishable from one of his fits. There was, however, no denying his alertness, for he was a sight to behold. His gaze fixed on Horatio’s with an intense presence that remained even as his breathing began to slow. 

The intensity of his gaze began to soften into a smile, and Horatio loosened his grip on Archie’s shoulders, not quite having realized he’d clung to them so tightly in the first place. 

He had a vague notion of Archie wiping both their chests and stomachs dry with a shirt that he wasn’t sure whose was, then blowing out the candle and telling him he loved him.

The raindrops against the window had begun to dissipate, although at intervals a gust would hit the windowpanes and Horatio could hear the telltale change in the sound of the droplets he’d long come to know meant they were beginning to freeze. 

As he drifted off, he thought about how slushy it would be in the morning, and how Archie had taken up the same position with his head on his chest as he had at the Inn in Portsmouth. They were forming habits, he thought. Habits, between themselves and themselves alone—not to be shared with anybody else. Secret habits. 

He wasn’t sure what time he finally fell asleep but it was still dark when he awoke to the sound of Archie shivering. 

He’d cast off the bedclothes and lay with his back to Horatio, arms crossed across his chest and his knees brought up, as they’d learnt to do on cold nights in Spain when the blankets weren’t enough. 

Horatio wondered why Archie hadn’t pulled the covers back over himself, but he realized that despite his shivering, he was quite fast asleep. 

He gathered up the sheets in his free arm and threw them over Archie, like a cape, snaking his arm between Archie’s crossed forearms and pulling him close with both arms, gasping as his cold skin came against his own. 

It took but a few moments, and Archie’s shivering subsided and his breathing returned to its normal cadence. Horatio wondered how in the world he’d managed to do it in his sleep, but he drifted off again into the returning warmth.

He could no longer hear any rain when he awoke some hours later to use the chamber pot, and through the window he could just make out the the pre-dawn, slate colored overcast. The room had grown decidedly chilly, and he drew on his shirt and stockings and crept downstairs to rekindle the fire.

Satisfied with the new flames from the fire, he finally looked out the window long enough to see that the rain had indeed frozen overnight, and was still coming down in large, fluffy flakes, joining others which had already carpeted the landscape with at least an inch of snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magdalen is a college at Oxford University, noted for theology.


End file.
